Forward to Time Past
by Zephyr Lee Anderson
Summary: A carefree vacation quickly turns into a dangerous life-and-death chase for a modern-day highschool student as she is transported back in time, right into the midst of nineteenth century London, in the company of Holmes and Watson.
1. The Beginning

**Author's Note; This story is loosely based on a series of dreams I had… I say loosely, because if I were to put in everything that happened, Sherlock Holmes would be wearing a dress and living in an apartment, and there would be WAAAY too many characters to manage. Sooo… yeah. Leora and Toby are the only characters I own. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, Axel, Kingdom Hearts, or Disney World. Or Florida, for that matter. XD And yes, I took the title from one of the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban songs. I don't own that, either. Poor me who doesn't own anything. D:**

Leora tapped her pencil on the desk, bored. Only one more hour to sit through, and then she would be free... free for three sweet months to be spent wherever she so pleased, which would most likely be somewhere warm and sandy. She loved living in Florida, except during the school year. School was such a waste of her time, which could be better spent at places like the Florida Keys, Disney World, or Cape Cod. Her deep green eyes darted once more toward the clock, gauging the time.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, the bell rang. Without waiting for the teacher to dismiss them, the thirty-three students scrambled to their feet and rushed out the door, Leora in their midst. The door to the outside world was flung open, and the students, Leora included, flowed out and into the thousands of other high school students like a river joining the ocean. There were shouts of joy coming from every direction, mingled with the more reprimanding tones of the teachers, counselors, and security guards attempting to get the tide under control. Leora rolled her eyes. It was a wasted effort, through and through. There would be no containing these high school students, not today.

"Hey Leora! How's it feel to be a fish?" came a voice to the left of Leora. She glanced over, grinning toothily.

"Ask yourself, Toby! You're just as much a fish as I am!" she shouted to her friend over the noise.

"Come over here and say that to my face!" Toby replied, sticking his tongue out at her. He was lanky, with dark brown, medium-length curly hair. Despite the almost constant Florida sun, he was quite pale. His full name was Tobias, but almost everybody just called him Toby. It fit him better.

"Alright, I will!" Leora responded, beginning to shove her way sideways through the crowd. She was slightly taller than he was, with waist-length dyed red hair. In contrast to Toby, she was quite tan. Finally she stood next to him, matching her pace with his. "You're a fish. Fish-face."

"You're just jealous," he replied, sucking his cheeks in to make fish-lips. Leora shoved him in response, nearly causing a pile-up. "Hey! Watch the merchandise! I got some valuable stuff in this backpack!" he whined, jolting it up and down. "Hey, are you gonna drive me home or am I gonna have to ride the stupid bus?"

Leora sighed. Toby could never seem to stay on one subject for more than two seconds. "Yeah sure, I'll drive you home. You gotta behave, though. I'll throw you out of my car without a second thought."

"I know. Can I at least play my new CD?"

"You know the rules."

"Yup. No rap, no country, and no scream-o. Nothin' to worry about, honest. You'll like this one."

A flood of students later, Leora sat in the driver's seat of her pearly white VW Beetle. It was her pride and joy, with a red and black dragon traveling down both sides and a deep maroon convertible top. Toby leaned forward, popping the CD in without letting Leora see the title. She rolled her eyes as she put the car into reverse, looking behind her. Because of their detour to the vending machines, by the time the two reached the parking lot most other students were long gone. Leora cautiously backed the car up, wary of any aggressive stragglers. She sighed in contentment. "Finally, summer is here!" she said as the music began to play. It wasn't anything she had heard before, but it wasn't bad. She found herself tapping her fingers on the steering wheel along with the beat.

"Is that trip to Disney World still on?" Toby asked suddenly, glancing sideways at Leora.

"Come on! It's tradition! Of _course_ it's still on!" Leora replied, pretending to be indignant.

"Good. I heard they're doing this really cool thing this year, and I was thinking of booking us a couple of character dinners..."

"Do you think they ever get tired of us? I mean, a group of rowdy high school teenagers, most of who somehow manage to be taller than even Goofy, asking for the autograph of some random guy in a costume?"

"You know they get a laugh out of it. Plus, it's kinda fun to watch them stumble around in those crazy costumes. I heard you could get a ride in the front of the monorails!" Leora was used to the Toby's habit of hopping rapidly from one subject to the next, and it didn't bother her nearly as much as it had when she had first met him. By now, she could almost keep up with his speeding train of thought. Almost.

"Really? That would be pretty cool... almost like driving the whole train..." Leora let the thought trail as the two contented themselves with listening to the CD.


	2. The Storm

A few weeks later, Leora stood in the parking lot of Disney World's Magic Kingdom, surrounded by Toby and several of her other friends, each one sporting souvenirs from years past. The group chattered with excitement, wondering how much the park had changed since last year, debating which ride to go on first, and discussing when lunch would be. Most had driven themselves there, but for the few whose parents had supplied their ride, it was a struggle to get their parents to leave. Reassurances of, "Look, I have my cell phone. I'll call you the instant we even think of leaving. Don't worry, I'll be fine" were common among them, and repeated often. Finally all parents had driven away, waving out their windows.

"You'd think after this many years they'd just give it a rest, wouldn't you?" Toby stated, shaking his head.

"Yeah..." Leora responded, not really listening. "Everyone! Listen up!" she called out to the group. It had been her turn to organize this year's event, which put her in charge of everyone. She waited until everyone was looking at her, then continued. "Remember to keep your cell phones on, and to stick together. I know it seems lame, but it's the best way to keep from getting lost. You can split up into smaller groups, so long as you have someone with you at all times. We meet at the Funnel Cake place at noon for lunch, then at the gate when the park closes. Got it memorized?"

There was a collective laugh at her quoting Kingdom Heart's Axel, and shouts of agreement and excitement. As one, the group shouted, "And so we go!" and went dashing across the parking lot, headed for the tram to the ticket gate.

Not much later, they stood in line for the monorail to the Magic Kingdom park. "Nice day, ain't it?" a person was saying in front of them, gazing at the blue sky, his big black cowboy hat shading his face.

"Yup," his partner replied, following the first one's gaze. "Perfect Florida day to be in Disney."

The line moved forward, and soon the group of teens was next in line. Toby tapped the shoulder of an attendant, getting the woman's attention. She was heavy-lidded, with thick makeup and even thicker lipstick. "Whaddya want, kid?" she asked, sneering.

"I heard that people can ride in the front of the monorail. Could me an' my friends do that?" Toby asked, using his puppy eyes on her.

"Sorry kid, but there's already a full group for the next two trains. Tell ya what, I'll put you up here, an' you can wait for a few minutes. But there's only room for one of ya."

Toby sighed. "Fine. I guess just Leora here will ride up front." He turned away, informing everyone else of the slight change in plans, then waved as Leora followed the snooty woman to a separate gate. It wasn't long until it was her turn, and she piled in the front car of the monorail. The driver looked askance at her, but said nothing as he piloted the monorail forward.

"This is so cool!" Leora stated, gazing at the view provided by the wide window of the monorail. "Wait... wasn't the sky just clear?" she asked, a confused look crossing her face.

"Yeah. Why?" the conductor asked, staring straight ahead.

"Well, just look at it now! There's clouds everywhere! If I didn't know any better, I'd say it looked like it was gonna rain..."

"That's impossible! The forecast for this entire week was completely devoid of even the smallest cloud!" the conductor said, confounded. He and Leora fell silent as they continued to stare at the continually darkening sky, until it was blocked off by the hotel. Normally it wouldn't be such a surprise, but Leora had completely forgotten that the monorail went through a hotel on its way to the Magic Kingdom. She fidgeted around until the monorail emerged from the hotel, and gasped at the sight of the outside world. The sky was an interesting shade of purplish-black, and it was pouring buckets of rain. The darkness and the rain combined formed a visibility of roughly three feet.

"What in the name of Hades is going on?!" the conductor muttered.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blinding white light, followed instantly by an earsplitting crack of thunder. Leora yelped and ducked her head, covering her head with her hands. The conductor squealed like a three-year-old girl. The monorail buckled, shuddering violently. There was another crack of deafening thunder, and suddenly it felt as if the monorail was falling. Leora and the conductor clutched onto the handrails, screaming at the top of their lungs. There was a loud splashing noise as the monorail landed in some huge body of water. The impact threw Leora to the floor. She barely had time to register pain in her right leg before the monorail began to sink quickly, the water level rising visibly against the glass.

"Oh my god! We've landed in the lagoon! We're gonna DIE!" the conductor wailed, leaving his control station and stumbling over to the sliding doors. He frantically pulled at them, trying to wrench them open. It was no use. He started hyperventilating, pounding his fists against the doors.

"Stoppit! You'll use up all the oxygen! We'll die faster if you do that! Calm down, dammit!" Leora shouted, attempting to stand up. She glanced around, looking for an escape. "Hey, is there a button we could push to open these doors?"

The conductor's face lit up. "Of course! We're saved!" he yelled, pulling himself back to his podium. By now the water level was almost all the way up to the top of the monorail window. He flipped open a small box, and pushed a raised yellow button, then rushed over to the doors before they could open. He didn't have time to move before the wall of water rushed in, slamming him against the opposite wall. Leora gasped, covering her hands with her mouth. She didn't have time to worry about him, though, because now water was rapidly filling the monorail. It was _cold_, far colder than any Florida water should be. She shook her head. Now was not the time for such thoughts. She had to wait until the water started slowing down, then make her move: otherwise, she'd be dead in the blink of an eye. The waiting was torture, but finally the water began to equalize, and none too soon. Even Leora, at six feet tall, had to stand on tiptoe 

to keep her chin above water. She inhaled deeply, then plunged beneath the ice-cold water, heading for the opening. She misjudged her speed and went careening into the side of the monorail headfirst before correcting herself and swimming out of the open door, kicking away from the monorail. She winced every time she moved her right leg; she fervently hoped she hadn't broken it. The surface seemed to be nowhere in sight. She began to panic, fighting hard to not start hyperventilating underwater. Finally, a thought occurred to her. She relaxed, and almost sighed in relief as she began to float upwards. Her lungs began to feel as if they were made of molten lava when finally her head broke the surface. It was still raining, but was now much colder than she remembered it. She spun around, trying to fight the current that wanted to pull her under. 'Wait, since when was there a current in a standing body of water?' she thought, puzzled.

She forced herself to calm down and think rationally. A warm flood of relief filled her as she saw lights—obviously the shore—not far away. She kicked off towards them, swimming hard. A few times she got pulled under, only to pop back up, gasping and spluttering. Finally, she crawled onto dry land, her head throbbing like mad and her right leg feeling as if someone had attempted to rip it clean off her body. She collapsed, barely able to breathe. It wasn't long before she passed out from the exhaustion, cold, and pain.


	3. The Discovery

Leora awakened once, briefly. It was still pouring rain, so she had to squint to see anything. That, combined with the slight fog that hung around the streets, made it hard for her to see anything. What she did see was a tall figure looming over her, seemingly staring at something far away. It took her a moment to realize that the figure was carrying her. She groaned, and lifted her head slightly to get a better view of her surroundings. The streetlights at regular intervals along the street seemed odd... for that matter, so did the street itself. It was too bumpy and irregular. She caught sight of another figure walking alongside them. He was much shorter than the one that carried her. He was fatter, too, she thought rudely, before going limp again. It was too much work to think. She slipped into darkness once again, breathing becoming even.

* * *

The next time Leora opened her eyes, she had to blink in the sudden light. The pain in her head was now reduced to nothing more than a dull, annoying throb. She grumbled to herself, and attempted to sit up. She was halted by a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder.

"No you don't. You need to just lie down for a little while, until the bleeding stops," said a voice she didn't recognize. It was soft and warm. She decided that, if a voice was anything to go by, she would like this person. She debated with herself about whether or not to obey, then decided it was for the best. She lay back down, and discovered she was lying on her back, stretched out on a long couch. It was comfy. She looked up to see who had spoken, and found herself looking up at what must have been the shorter person she saw in her small time while awake. She began to wonder where the tall person was when the man standing above her spoke again.

"You're lucky, you know. It's not often that my friend and I are out and about the streets of London so late. If we hadn't been there, you might have died of blood loss."

"Lon—Wait, don't you mean Florida? We're in Florida. Not London." Leora stated, her mind working too slowly. Things were getting really strange around here. First, the too-cold, too-fast water, then the odd streetlights and roads, and now this guy thinking they were in London... She took a closer look at her surroundings, and what she saw only puzzled her further. Nothing looked modern. They could have been in a gift shop, but it didn't quite look right... not to mention, it wasn't Disney-themed at all. It looked like an actual house, but there wasn't a house in miles of Disney World. And then there were the bullet holes in the wall. The last time she had checked, Disney wouldn't dream of using such an unsightly decoration. Not to mention all the random items strewn all over the tables: books, papers, chemistry sets, guns… there wasn't much that screamed "Gift Shop" around here.

"Florida? Goodness, no. We are, in fact, in London. Maybe that wound is more serious than I thought..." the strange man said, just as puzzled as Leora. She noticed that his clothes looked like they had been taken straight out of the nineteenth century, and he bore no Disney nametag.

"Of course we're in Florida! I was in the monorail, heading for the Magic Kingdom, and there was this huge storm, and the monorail must have derailed or something, and we landed in the lagoon!" Leora was now upright, despite the man's protests and attempts to get her to lie down.

"I've no idea what a monorail or the Magic Kingdom is, but what I do know is that you were in the River Thames, and you obviously got knocked senseless," the man replied, shaking his head.

"What are you talkin' about? Where have you been all your goddamn life? Honestly! We are not in goddamn London, nor was I in the goddamn River Thames! We were in a freaking monorail, headed for the freaking Magic Kingdom, and we fell in the freaking lagoon! This is the twenty-first century, man! How on earth can you NOT KNOW ABOUT DISNEY WORLD?!" By now, Leora was on her feet, subconsciously favoring her injured leg, yelling down at the stocky man. A strange thought had occurred to her; what if the man was right? But no, that was impossible. She pushed it aside as if it was a small pile of troublesome leaves. She took another breath, about to continue her tirade, when she was interrupted by a quiet chuckle coming from somewhere behind her. Exasperated, she spun around to face whoever had made the noise. It came as only a mild surprise that the taller person, the one who had been carrying her, stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

"My dear Watson, I don't think you're going to make any ground with her. She seems quite convinced about her surroundings, false as they may be." The man said, straightening himself and walking into the room smoothly, his keen eyes taking in everything about her. Leora's breath caught in her throat. Maybe it was the sharp angles of his face that gave him away. Maybe it was the trademark deerstalker cap, or the pipe, or his ever-observant gray eyes. Maybe it was his reference to Watson. Either way, the inevitable truth was enough to make Leora fall back onto the couch, eyes never leaving the man's face. She reached a hand up, pushing back the few strands of hair that dangled in her face.

"Oh my god." She stated, eyes wide. "Impossible. You can't be... but you are, aren't you?"

"That depends on who you think I am. If you are under the impression that I am the president of the United States, come to Florida for some reason or another, then I am afraid you are mistaken," he replied, mouth twitching to repress a smile.

"You... You're Sherlock Holmes!" Leora managed to say, her voice strangled with the sheer impossibility of it all.

Sherlock's returning gaze was amused, yet understanding at the same time. "I knew you'd come around to the truth eventually."

Leora glanced from Sherlock to the shorter man—he was Watson, she thought in disbelief—and back again. She repeated the movement several times before inhaling deeply and screaming.


	4. Decisions

Leora sat on top of an old-fashioned bed, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth. Then again, given the fact that she was in the nineteenth century, it probably wasn't old-fashioned at all. She shook her head for what seemed like the thousandth time. It was impossible. There was no way she was in London, almost two hundred years before she had even been born. And yet the longer she thought about it, the less evidence she could find against that fact. Finally, grudgingly, disbelievingly, she accepted that fact and moved on to the next. Sherlock Holmes was a character in a bunch of stories written by Arthur Conan Doyle. She had read each of those stories avidly, and loved each one. She had always wondered what it would be like to meet him... but never thought she would actually get the chance. He wasn't real. He was a character, in a story! But there was no mistaking who that tall man was, and there was no doubt as to whether or not he was real. He had carried her from the lagoon—no, the River Thames—to this house, and, as far as Leora knew, fictional characters couldn't carry anything, Leora-sized or otherwise. She inhaled deeply, recounting all that had happened up until now, trying to find a trace that this wasn't a dream.

_After she had finished screaming, she had leapt to her feet and dashed for the door. Her plan began and ended with getting as far away from here as possible. Maybe, just maybe, she had thought, if she opened the door, she would be faced with the warm breeze and high humidity of Florida. Before her hand had even touched the door, though, a pair of strong arms wrapped themselves around her waist, pinning her arms to her side. She was lifted off her feet and spun around, away from the door. If only she had been able to move more quickly, she would have gotten away. She had silently cursed her injured leg for hindering her._

"_Lemme go! Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she had shouted, kicking her legs furiously. When she had discovered that she could not quite reach the man claiming to be Sherlock with her feet, she began to use a different tactic. She whipped her head backwards, banging it into his chest. "Put. Me. Down!" she had commanded, each word punctuated by another hit with her head. _

"_I'm afraid I can't let you just go wandering around the streets of London," he had replied, annoyance evident in his voice._

"_Why the hell not?" Leora had demanded, continuing to bang her head against his chest._

"_I would explain, but you are beyond reasoning with at the moment. Now, please stop hitting me with your head, or I shall have my friend sedate you, which would most likely involve the use of a needle."_

_Leora had frozen at the mention of a needle. She hated needles. "I'm not even going to ask how you knew that," she had stated, irritation creeping into her voice. _

_Slowly, Sherlock had lowered Leora to the floor. He had released her and stepped back, positioning himself between her and the door. Leora had stuck her tongue out at him and turned away, showing she wasn't going to try to leave again. Sherlock had called for the housekeeper then, and, after speaking to her briefly, she had taken Leora gently by the arm and led her to an upstairs bedroom, where Leora had sat for the remainder of the night and into the next morning. _

_There had only been one time in which anyone had attempted to speak to her, made by Dr. Watson. He had attempted to talk to her for the greater part of fifteen minutes, only to get a muffled, "Hmph," as a response. _

Several times, she went to the window, checking on the outside world. Each time, she expected to be greeted by a rush of warm, humid air, and each time was shocked to get instead a blast of cold, dry wind blown into her face. So she was definitely in London. And the scenery outside the window unmistakably told her that she wasn't in her current century. There was nowhere in Florida that looked even remotely like this. As she sat back on the bed, she began to doubt her first thoughts as to the identity of the two men. What if they weren't really Sherlock and Watson? Maybe they had just been fooling with her. There was really only one way to find out.


	5. Identities

Leora sucked in a breath, then sighed, swinging her legs to the floor. She strode over to the door, limping slightly, and swung it open, walking to the end of the stairs and descending. She felt marginally better now that she had a set objective. Still, it wasn't enough to keep her breath rate normal, or to stop her heart from beating erratically in her chest. This was all so absurd! She wished she would just wake up from this impossible dream, find out that she was still in her bed at home, discover that she had just had a very vivid dream caused by the excitement of the imminent vacation—her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of voices, and she instinctively halted, listening to what they were saying.

"—she needs medical attention, Holmes, better attention than I can give her here. I'll say it again, I need to give her head a proper examination, and that can only be done in my own office, with proper equipment."

"I quite agree. Regrettably, I do not even possess a proper splint."

"A… A splint, Holmes?"

"Did you not notice that our guest favors her right leg?"

There was an incredulous laugh, then, "No, I must admit I did not! I suppose I was too worried about her head injury to give much notice to anything else. Do you suppose…?"

"That the blow to her head caused her to believe she was in Florida? I should hardly think so. How else would you explain her clothing?"

Subconsciously Leora looked down. She was wearing Levi Capri's with embroidered roses on the thighs, flip-flops, and a T-shirt emblazoned with the Kingdom Hearts logo. Definitely not nineteenth century garb.

"I suppose you're right…"

"Perhaps we better ask her herself?" Holmes suggested, an undertone of amusement in his voice.

"Well, you're welcome to try. She seemed quite disinclined to come out of that room when I tried talking to her."

"I don't think we'll have that same difficulty now. She has been standing at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes now, if I'm not mistaken."

To avoid the indignity of being discovered standing furtively on the stairs, she quickly stepped down, glad for her golden-brown skin that hid her blush so well. Not one to be shy or timid, she held her head up and strode into the parlor—her dignified walk 

ruined slightly by the annoying limp. She noticed a smug smile twitch on Holmes's lips. That, combined with the oppressing silence, compelled her to speak.

"My clothes aren't _that_ odd. They're perfectly normal twenty-first century clothing. And I'm not loopy," she stated, looking defiantly at the man claiming to be Watson. He began to sputter out an apology, but Leora overrode him. "And another thing: I don't really think that you're Holmes and Watson. You're just yanking my chain."

Again that almost-smug smile twitched on the one claiming to be Holmes. "Well, if you require proof, just take a look around you. I'm sure there's something that would convince you of our true identities," he said calmly, picking up a newspaper and beginning to read it.

Leora sighed and glanced around, thinking hard. What artifact could possibly cement the identity of these two men? Finally she struck upon something, and a sly grin crept across her face. "Alright. Show me… oh, wait, first I have to know something; what's the status on Professor Moriarty?"

Sherlock blinked and lowered the newspaper to peer over it at her, almost as if seeing her for the first time. "Are you, by chance, referring to the late Professor?"

"Oh, okay, so he's dead. Good. Then, can you show me the decoy bust you used to capture the guy who was pursuing you? You know, the bust that got shot in the head?" Leora glanced from Holmes to Watson. The latter had his mouth hanging open in obvious shock and confusion. Holmes was watching her through narrowed gray eyes. "What? What did I… oh! Right! Nobody's supposed to know about that… Damn."

Holmes studied her for a moment more; then, quite abruptly, he stood and strode to the stairs, ascending them. Leora, not knowing what else to do, followed him up the stairs and into a room on the second story. There, in a corner, was a bust in perfect likeness of the man standing before her, save for the gaping bullet-wound.

"Oh," was all Leora could say, because another moment of panic had swallowed her. Once again, she was forced to face the impossible. She was in nineteenth century London, and she was looking at Sherlock Holmes.

"Now that I've proven my identity, it's your turn," he said, gesturing out the door and bowing. Leora numbly walked forward and down the stairs, working hard to keep her mouth from hanging open. She plopped down in a chair and shook her head, clearing her overloaded mind. She just wouldn't think about the sheer impossibility of it all. She'd accept this all as some horridly vivid dream, fueled by an injury to the head. She was probably lying in a hospital right now, and this was all a dream… all just a dream… She was snapped out of her thoughts by a kind hand on her shoulder. She blinked, and focused her eyes to see Dr. Watson and Sherlock Holmes looking at her expectantly, the hand belonging to the former of the two. She took a deep breath, and began to explain her immediate past, starting with the last day of school.


	6. Arguments

Leora leaned back in the chair, her fingers interlaced behind her head. She had her legs propped up on a stool. It would have been quite comfortable, had Dr. Watson not been poking at her injured leg.

"Ow!" she yelped. "Are you done yet? This _hurts_. It didn't hurt as much before you started messing with it," she added crossly, squeezing her eyes shut. She heard the creaking of the chair as Watson leaned back. She opened her eyes, hoping that he really was done. "Tell it to me straight, doc," she said, making an attempt at humor.

"The good news is that it's nothing major. It should heal itself in a few days. The bad news is that it'll hurt until it's completely healed," the doctor said, running a hand through his hair. "The best thing to do until then would be to just take it easy."

Leora crossed her arms. "I've just landed in a fictional London two hundred years before I was even born. You think I'm just going to sit around here and be a couch potato? I don't think so. I want to see London!"

"What's a couch potato?" Dr. Watson asked, looking confused.

"I don't think that's a very good idea," Sherlock interjected. Leora jumped; she hadn't even heard the detective enter the room.

"Why not?" Leora asked, trying hard to keep from sounding too whiny.

"Several reasons. One: although, as you say, your clothing is perfectly normal in the twenty-first century, it would draw a lot of unwanted attention to you in this day and age. Two: as my dear friend Watson said, it would be bad for your health to go sightseeing."

"And three?" Leora prompted, sensing that Sherlock was leaving something out.

The brilliant detective turned his gaze toward her, seemingly debating whether or not to answer her. At length, he continued, "And three: there is a serial killer on the loose. His victims have all been young American women." He put extra emphasis on the last three words, his gray eyes never leaving Leora. She might have imagined it, but she could almost swear she had seen a hint of concern in those sharp gray eyes.

Leora blinked. She started to say something, but her statement was lost in a wide yawn that overtook her.

"You need sleep," Watson said, standing up and walking up next to Leora. She had to lean on the doctor to keep from falling over as she stood up.

"Alright, but I still say I want to see London," she agreed, stifling another yawn. "Where do I sleep?"

"Wherever you choose," Sherlock offered, turning and leaving the room. Leora watched him go, then turned back to Watson.

"That couch was really comfortable," she yawned.

"Are you sure? You could use my bed…" offered Watson, gesturing toward the stairs.

"No, I'm fine on the couch. I like sleeping on couches. I do it all the time," Leora stated adamantly, only half joking. "I'm a regular couch potato."

"What is a couch potato?" Watson asked again, as Leora curled up on the couch, sleep already grasping at her.

"It's… someone who's always… on a couch…" Leora explained between yawns. Within seconds, her breathing had evened out, and she was in a deep, dreamless sleep.


	7. Mrs Hudson

**Author's Note: Dude, I'm so sorry it took me this long to update it. D: You wouldn't believe how busy I've been lately. Anyways, here's the next chapter in the EPIC (hehe) Leora Saga.**

Leora yawned and rolled over, curling up. She inhaled deeply, smiling slightly. "Mmm, bacon," she murmered, eyes still closed. "Hey mom! Can you make some pancakes too?" she called out, still more than half-asleep.

"What's that?" answered an unfamiliar voice. Confused, Leora opened her eyes. Panic instantly seized her heart as all traces of sleep vanished. That wasn't her mom. This wasn't her couch. She sat bolt upright, looking around in a panic. This wasn't her house, either. What...? Suddenly, memory came rushing back. She slumped back down on the couch as the panic subsided. Of course this wasn't her house; it belonged to, impossible as it sounded, Sherlock Holmes.

"What was that, dearie?" the voice asked again. Confusion returned as Leora realized that the voice was totally unfamiliar. It was most definitely a woman's voice, so who could it be? Try as she might, she couldn't think of any woman who should be in Sherlock's apartment. Curiosity overtook her. She got to her feet and staggered over to the door to the kitchen. Leaning against the doorframe, she tilted her head to one side and stared at the woman frying bacon.

Apparantly aware she was being watched, the woman turned around, a warm smile on her face. "So you are awake! Don't be shy, dearie! Come on in and have a spot of breakfast," she said, her voice carrying a heavy English accent. She waved her hand toward the dining table where two spots were set out.

Leora stayed rooted to the spot. "Um... sorry, but... who are you?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'm Mrs. Hudson, Mr. Holmess landlady. I don't usually do favors like this for my tenants, but seeing as Holmes is a good sort and he agreed to pay twice the rent for this week, I couldn't really turn the offer down? Besides, all I have to do is cook and take you out shopping! Now won't that be fun?" the woman explained, the smile staying on her face the entire time.

"Uh... sure. Thanks for making bacon, by the way. I love bacon. Do you think you could crispify it for me?" Leora asked, relaxing slightly and limping over to the table, plopping down in a chair.

"Crispify? Oh, that must be one of those American terms! Holmes did warn me about the strange ways of you Americans"

"Did he now?" Leora retorted dryly, rolling her eyes. "Just make sure the bacon is burnt, please"

"Alright dearie," Mrs. Hudson replied with a chuckle. "Oh, that reminds me! Holmes said that you should borrow some of my clothes until you get some of your own, so you won't look so American. After breakfast you can put those on, and then we'll get started on that shopping! Holmes left some money for you, kind soul."

"No way am I wearing that," Leora huffed, crossing her arms. "Why not? It's the latest fashion, and it fits you perfectly"  
"I don't care! I am NOT wearing that... that... argh! I hate dresses"  
"But it's the only thing I brought! Holmes specified that if you wanted to leave the house, you could not do so dressed as an American! Do you want that murderer," she shuddered, "to find you"  
Pouting, Leora reluctantly replied, "No. Fine, I'll wear the stupid dress. But the first thing I'm going to buy are some proper clothes. I hope you don't expect me to wear a corset too," she snorted, grabbing the dress and stomping into the bathroom to change.

"That was quite possibly one of the most taxing days in my entire life, Mr. Holmes! That girl is as hard-headed and stubborn as a mule!" Mrs. Hudson stated shrilly, pointing her finger at Leora before turning and stomping out. Holmes and Watson watched her go, Holmes with an expression of amusement, Watson's expression leaning more toward bewildered.

"I certainly hope that you got some shopping squeezed in amongst all that arguing," Holmes said, still staring at the spot where, until her little tirade had ended, Mrs. Hudson had been standing.

"Yup. I got lotsa stuff. Even got some dresses, much to Madame Shrew's delight," Leora replied, infinitely more cheerful than Mrs. Hudson had been. Walking around the streets of London had been a real thrill for Leora. The sights, the sounds... it was all so different from twenty-first century Florida. She had even begun to think that she could come to like it here.

Holmes smiled, then clapped his hands together. "Well, I have some experiments to run, and quite a few wrinkles to work out on this case of mine. I'll have that murderer behind bars yet!" he exclaimed, turning on his heel and striding deeper into the house.

"Still haven't caught the bugger?" Leora asked, turning her attention to Watson.

"I'm afraid not. This killer has proven to be a sly one"

Leora nodded. "I'm bushed," she stated after a few minutes of silence.

"Bushed?" Watson inquired.

"Y'know, exhausted. I'm gonna go to bed, 'kay? I had a long day. Landladies don't argue with themselves, you know... at least, I don't think they do," she said, getting up and staggering over to the couch, flopping unceremoniously onto it. She was awake long enough to hear Watson chuckle, before sleep overtook her.


End file.
